Softboiled

The eggs went bad, but instead of throwing them out, she set them on the counter.  The phone rang, or someone was at the door, or something happened, and she plain forgot about them. They were still there the next morning, five white ovals, sitting in the left side of the cardboard rack,  next to the dirty dishes.

She only remembered them once the bus she had to run to catch, lurched away form the curb.

The bus stopped suddenly, to avoid a car swerving in front of it, and a man let himself go, groping her as he fell.

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